


Dr. Cannibal Extrordanaire

by Black_Birb



Category: Hannibal (TV), Trader Joe's - Fandom
Genre: Basically a rant on customer service, Brutal Murder, Character Death, Gen, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I wrote this while listening to Nikacado Avocado Worst Moments videos, Jack Crawford Being an Asshole, Jack being Jack, Mentally you know how it goes, Murder, Original Character Death(s), Sales Associates - Freeform, Sassy, Sassy sales associates, Stabbing, Tobias Budge is an ass, Trader Joe's, Why Did I Write This?, like obviously, the customers not the service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:07:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29834373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Birb/pseuds/Black_Birb
Summary: An OC's Short but sweet life in the murder-tastic world of Hannibal.
Relationships: Hannibal & Original Female Characters
Kudos: 2





	Dr. Cannibal Extrordanaire

**Author's Note:**

> Let me start off by saying I love this work. I love the sarcastic tone. I love the pure hatred that seeps from the heart of this poor customer service worker. 
> 
> I love it. Because that is me. I worked in customer service for years, Dollar General to be exact, and I HATED IT.
> 
> On a side note, I am of mixed decent but I sadly did not get to inherit the lustrous, curls of my mother so I guess this also my revenge on the gene pool. How dare you deny my amazing hair.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

In the dead of night, in an ordinary middle class neighborhood, on an ordinary night, and under ordinary circumstances, a toddler of two sat up in her perfectly ordinary room.

This little girl, as ordinary as she appeared, was about to reveal that she was anything but ordinary. Because you see, today was her birthday— no, no not her her birthday! The before her birthday.

July 17th was the day Lily, a Caucasian girl from a universe over, was born and also coincidently died thirty-seven years later. In that instant of death she was also reborn into a world so entirely similar to her own she could hardly tell the difference, at least for a few years anyway, and was now of a far more colorful descent of Vietnamese and Jamaican. Her new name was Amancia, and with slanted dark brown eyes, and a head full of dark curls, chubby cheeks, and stubby fingers this little girl was absolutely adorable.

But cooing over the absolute power of adorable children is not the point of this story, _ahem_.

This night, July 17th at exactly midnight, this perfectly ordinary (albeit too adorable for words) toddler had found herself quite suddenly very unordinary. ~ She remembered.

A whole lifetime of love, hate, sadness, happiness, success, failure, and finally death. It played before Amancia’s eyes, like the reel of an old movie, before the glint of a knife in the dark slammed the end credits into place far too soon.

My hazy vision slowly drags back into focus, a stray tear dripping from my chin as I remembered all that I had, all that I lost, and all that I gained in turn.

I look around my new room, dolls, action figures, and a crooked slinky were cast around the floor. My walls were a mismatch of barbie, super hero posters, and shaky hand drawn pictures. My bedspread was pink, my pillows were Star Wars, and the stuffed bunny I was sleeping with was wearing overalls.

I look out the window at my new suburban neighborhood, the distant sounds of my new parents shifting in sleep could be heard just down the hall.

 ** _Fuck_**.

___________

So turns out reincarnation didn’t affect much about my new life. I got a second chance, yes, but I had no plans to save the world, or cure cancer, I just pretty much lived again. This time around though I was far more prepared for school, from kindergarten to high school I was way more chill. Less time worrying if Becky would bully me, or if I could get a boyfriend before I graduated and my “life would end.”

Puberty was nearly a breeze a second go around, and I’m pretty sure I broke my mother with my easy acceptance of monthly bleeding sessions

I knew how to get a job, I knew how to do taxes, and I made far better investments with my money and time. My dream for my future stayed the same from my past life, seeing as though I unfortunately didn’t get enough time to complete it, and the life of an eccentric albeit jaded chef, and restaurant owner was still calling to me. ~ I did get to be a chef last time around, but I never got to my goal of opening my own place.

(Sadly, unbeknownst to me, I would never even come close to reaching these goals this time around too.)

Moving out was less stressful, but with no less hugging and tears and listless staring at the empty, lonely walls of my new home. I won a scholarship to Johnson & Wales* and never looked back. 

Brand new future, here I come.

____________

Life was gooood.

I scored a job at a ritzy Trader Joe’s on the rich side of town, my apartment was within walking distance of my school, and my school was within walking distance of my job. I had a roommate that wasn’t an obnoxious stoner, or a horny young adult that kept me up all night with their rowdy sex, and even though they suffered from apocalyptic rage when dirty dishes were left in the sink I could endure.

Honestly, with all this good, I should have really seen the nasty hurling towards me.

There, standing in front of the grass-fed all natural free-range meat freezers, surrounded by pearl encrusted desperate house wives, and their nasty, trust fund, perfect, blond, children was the paisley suited Dr. Hannibal Lecter. 

Fuck.

___________

After that first sighting of Dr. Cannibal, I had simply decided to push it from my mind. Even though the good doctor was a thrice weekly regular, the chances of us ever meeting was astronomically low. I stocked the candy, and prepackaged food aisles, taking care of both recovery, and general cleanliness of that section of the store.

The chances of Hannibal ever venturing into the _candy_ or _prepackaged_ food aisles was very low, and on the off chance we ever did come into contact all I had to do was stay calm and stay Polite. I was hoping against all else that my survival instincts would not kick in, and I could remain both professional and genuinely non-rude while cranking up the niceness to 1000. 

Of course finding the balance between being nice, and being a kiss ass would probably be hard. Seeing as though the good doctor most likely didn’t appreciate a kiss ass, and I would therefore end up dead again either way.

For the most part this plan worked, I caught occasional glimpses of the brightly clothed cannibal but other than that so long as I stayed away from the fresh food aisles, most weeks I was golden.

Of course, as soon as I got comfortable, that is when fate struck.

“Excuse me ma’am, might I acquire your services for a moment?” A voice questioned me from behind, soft but not shy, accented, and phrased as a question but most definitely a command.

There could only be one.

I take a breath and put on a genial smile, preparing to great the _customer_. Turning, I am met with the sight of the Absolutely Feral version of Mads Mikkelsen, smiling politely down at me.

Suddenly, I feel very underdressed before this man.

And not style wise, more like…body armor and weapon wise.

In jeans, yellow high tops, and a button down I cut a very non-threatening figure. All though I suppose threatening is not the way one would want to go in this situation.

“Yes? What can I help you with today sir?”

Hopefully I would get to live another day.

________

Sadly, soon after my unfortunate run in with Cannibal Lecter, I couldn’t catch a break. 

Shawna the cashier, a middle aged woman with a sour face and a nasty demeanor, had quite suddenly “disappeared” three days ago. But judging by the altercation between the sour old hag, and our star man eater I had a pretty good guess as to what really happened.

Because of this we were down a cashier, and since I was already fully trained in most things relating to customer service I was asked (forced!) to fill in. ~ This is where tragedy strikes again.

“It appears we meet again.” A statement, meant to be polite, ordinary small talk that would perhaps spark a true conversation in the fashion only six hours on your feet dealing with bullshit customers, and whining children ever could. In customer service, this attempt of human contact would be dealt with in the form of a tired smile and a nice- _ish_ response you would not remember once the customers face faded from view.

If you were lucky.

In most cases any attempts to socialize with the “poor working class people” was not met with such niceties. The people who stood behind registers for upwards of eight hours, silently stocked shelves behind vapid, perfectly manicured, coiffed, perfumed, housewives and their well groomed monster children, and took the verbal abuse of their supposed “social betters” with a smile on their face and murder in their hearts would rarely be met with a verbal reply, and instead a stony silence at best and a tired glare at worst.

Suffice to say both of these options would never supply me with enough Luck Points to survive, Much less make it to graduation.

With a hard blink I snap back to attention, praying my daze of exhausted hatred came off as only absent day dreaming in the absence of any customers. It is a Thursday at 9:30 PM after all, the after school/work rush had been over for sometime.

I turn on my best, gentlest, and nicest smile. The one that taps into old memories of a baby brother from a past life, and squealing tiny cousins of this ones, the one that makes grandmas fucking coo, Karens _like_ me, and my shitty manager give me the hours I wanted.

And now the one that will hopefully see me to graduation, and far out of this shitty murderous town.

I really need a new job.

_______

Thankfully, after two life threatening conversations with that Silence of the Lambs fuck, a new cashier had been chosen and I could return to my work safely within the depths of the sugar and preservative laden candy aisles.

My search for a new job had turned out to be very fortuitous, as a new position for Line Cook at “The Wine Glass”, safely on the other side of town, had opened and my resume was in for processing. The emails and correspondence I had received were very positive, and I was certain an interview was in my future.

Sadly, tragedy seems to want to cling to my soul like a shitty romance novel, and it seemed obsessed with kicking me when I was down even after a customer dropped a bottle of red wine, and most of the bitter grape fluid got on me.

Because there, like a looming lovecraftian monster straight from the fires of hell, was the Cannibal of the Hour himself. He stood, with that same smirk lined in blood and viciousness but shaped to come off as charming and charismatic, looking like some chaotic god ready to break the universe as he stood in the middle of the candy aisle. His yellow plaid tie clashing in vomit inducing nausea against the cream cheese, all organic, sustainably sourced, no artificial flavors, peppermints that boasted disgustingly red stripes even though they bragged about being “dye free,” behind him.

Hannibal quirks a brow at my harried state, and I do feel a twinge of embarrassment at my appearance in front of such a well groomed person, but steadfastly I push forward. “Can I help you with anything today, sir?” But, now that the all consuming terror of impending doom has worn off, I let the recognition in my eyes flash and my smile become edged in the slightest bit of true warmth. For all his cannibalistic shortcomings Dr. Lecter was actually quite charming, and a pleasant casual conversationalist.

“This is the third time we’ve run into each other isn’t? What was the saying again, once is chance, twice is coincident, thrice is fate?”

And because I’m the stupidest, most idiotic peon on this shitty sideways earth I open my fat fucking mouth. “I thought it went once is chance, twice is coincidence, third times a conspiracy?” And for one mind shatteringly, terror inducing second I full heartedly believe I am next on the meat lovers ingredient list.

I freeze, terror and ice in my veins, as his face gives a peculiar twitch before realization dawns on me in horror as I witness the genuine amusement on his face. Quite suddenly he breaks the silence (and possibly my soul) as he gives a soft chuckle, and now I don’t know if I should feel better or throw up on his perfect, polished, leather shoes. “U-uh what can I do for you today sir?” Gentle reminder to the customer, keep your mind on your job, do not engage in innapropiate chit chat.

I barely restrain from breaking down in hysterical tears, when he only fucking smiles _you fuck-_ “Do you know where I might find the port wines?” Finally, something I can handle.

___________________

You know, working in a restaurant was so much more fun than my memories of the before. Truly, flowing through a kitchen of likeminded people, food flying and ingredients coming together I knew I was where I was meant to be. It was like coming home, after a long rough sad day.

Sadly, the horrific truth is that no one is safe even in their own home. I twitch at the paramedic’s hand on my shoulder, their incessant need to touch me beginning to fray my already tattered nerves.

Working in a kitchen meant long, odd hours usually early in the day and late into the night, which no one ever rarely wanted except for the bright eyed bushy-tailed noobs. So obviously I drew the short straw this lovely Wednesday and was given the golden opportunity to set up the kitchen at 5 am which is, of course, when I found the body _fuck this godforsaken hell town fucking damn it—_

“It appears it truly is fate then, that continues to draw us together?” I new hand, an unfamiliar hand attached to such a familiar voice, touches my arm and then my cheek at my prolonged silence. Finally I drag my eyes from the front doors of The Wine Glass swarmed with FBI, and flashing lights, to stare into Lecter’s face. “Doctor,” my voice is ragged and uneven, “fancy seeing you, come here often?” The man of the hour only huffs a laugh, soft, white handkerchief suddenly appearing to wipe at my mascara streaked face.

“Yes actually, every Wednesday as a matter fact, the pork medallions are to die for.” And I just had to let a laugh out at that, Willy you old bastard since when did you favor such _exotic_ meats? I sigh wetly, Dr. Lecter’s hand finally leaving my face along with the last traces of makeup, “Sorry, but I don’t think Wednesday specials will be available for a while.” My eyes are drawn from the cannibal then as a body bag is wheeled out of the building, Willy’s cold corpse zipped inside.

Not for a long time indeed.

________________

Honestly I have no idea how this happened.

One thing lead to another, suddenly the rest of the morning shift crew had arrived and pandemonium broke loose, and then everyone was being lead away for questioning. Jack Crawford the asshole himself deigned to interrogate me, and thankfully Hannibal fucking Lecter was still next to me because I’m pretty sure I would’ve gotten violent.

I digress.

One thing lead to another, myself and Dr. Cannibal began to converse on the topic of Spanish cuisine, which then devolved into a rather intense debate on the multi-cultural influences of American food as we know today. Which leads us here

Staring, slightly awed, at the art that is a kitchen around me I feel somehow…satisfied? I mean, in the show no one ever made it into Hannibal Lecter’s kitchen without being the main course (or Will Graham) but apparently I defy all known laws of the universe. Marble counters, state of the art knives, chopping blocks, all manner of tools, equipment and more all stacked, hung, shelved, organized neatly and labeled.

Not to mention the p _antry_ , and the ingredients. I mean, I knew this fucker was loaded but holy shit, from twelve different kinds of salt, to even the rarest spices, this man had it! Not to mention the herb garden.

And the cold storage.

“This is amazing!” I think I might have squealed a bit, but honestly I’m just way to excited to care right now. I flitter about the kitchen, dry storage, and cold storage areas, careful not to touch or god forbid break anything.

“Amancia.” I practically materialize before the man, excitement running so rampant through me my legs shake, and I think my eyes have turned into stars because the good doctor looked amused by it all.

Damnit this man might be one sick puppy, and a cannibal on top of that, but if anyone could teach me something about cuisine it would be him.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all?

______________ 

Amancia.

An odd young woman surely, Hannibal mused to himself, for how impeccably her manner was for someone her age. Her smile was neither too bright or too forced, her demeanor just genuine enough to convey a polite depth of interest, but never too much to be overbearing. She always seemed to be exactly where you needed her, and never where she shouldn’t be. She wielded a worldly wisdom not often found in someone only nineteen, and always seemed to know where boundaries began or ended.

She wasn’t exceptionally gifted academic wise, but she was bright in her own way. She also embraced this fact fully utilizing every bit of her talent and mind in the best way possible but never grew arrogant. She was content to not be the smartest person in the room, completely fine with not competing in carefully constructed word games, and kept her mind open to others knowledge, and wisdom while also being intelligent enough to discern fact from fiction.

She was comfortable asking a thousand questions when ignorant, or lacking, on a subject, and she listened intently and completely while answers were given. This being said she was not stupid. A fact she also knew intimately, and was not above putting someone who stated, insinuated, or otherwise thought she was unintelligent, right back into their place.

All with a calm, pretty smile, knives carefully folded into her every word. She was calm, polite and had a refreshingly new, and genuinely bright outlook on life he didn’t get to witness from many.

Not quite intelligent enough to piece to together every clue to his artwork, but smart enough to appreciate the essence of it. And, judging from the way she paused to consider the much too large fillet before setting it down to rube in the spices he laid out, not once breaking their easy conversation, she was smart enough to not say a word either.

All in all, a very pleasant young woman to be acquainted with.

_________________

I spoke too soon.

I spoke way, way to soon.

My breath burns up my throat as I run from blood thirsty Beethoven. The twisting halls of the event hall blurring past me as I stumble through the main hall doors, scrambling around the white cloaked tables. _Why did it have to be me?_ I lament internally, chucking centerpieces at the fucking psycho trying to turn my vocal cords into a violin. _Should not have taken the catering job_.

“Suck it bitch!” I cackle when I nail Tobias Budge in the face with a flower vase, the horny little fucker. If I was going to die then I was going to put up one hell of a fight, and no matter what I would not let this fucker string me out like his favorite orchestra even if I was dead.

I yelp in pain as Tobias jams his knife in my gut, clinging to his arm I vindictively sink my teeth into his face refusing to let go even as he screams in my ear, stabbing me repeatedly. Darkness begins to encroach on my vision, pain slowly overcome by a strange numbness as I slump to the floor, my teeth finally leaving his face.

I dredge up the will to smile nastily up at him, teeth bared and bloody. As my vision fades to darkness, I make one last desperate plea, to none other than Dr. Cannibal Extraordinaire.

_Avenge me damn it!_

_________________

Hannibal hummed as he observed the scene before him, sloppy, bloody, and pathetically wrecked.

Amancia was splayed in the middle of the event hall, her blood soaked into the carpeted floor, and painted the upturned tables in splatters of red. Shattered glass, and shining silverware were scattered around her, tangled in her dark hair, and a few errant shards of glass still dug into her palms.

She had given everything she had in her fight, and died with a smug little smile, knowing she ruined any chance for her murderer to turn her into one of his fantasies.

Dark fury churned inside of him, as he turned on his heel with a scoff.

_He had a mess to clean up._

…

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!


End file.
